


You’re Not Just Whistlin’ Pixie

by Zanne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets turned into a pixie and Sam has to deal with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re Not Just Whistlin’ Pixie

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas[](http://caelumi.livejournal.com/profile)[ **caelumi**](http://caelumi.livejournal.com/) and[](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/profile)[ **insomnia_geek**](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/)! Kripke owns the Winchesters and I make no profit - not even a hug, Kripke? Is that too much to ask? Not for me, for the boys.(Originally posted: 12/5/07)

  
Sam slammed the door behind him, sending a stray sparkle of sunlight drifting on a warm eddy of air like a maple leaf spinning wildly out of control.

“Dammit, Dean! What did Dad tell us? You don’t fuck with fairies!” Sam exploded angrily, running a hand through his hair as he let out a frustrated breath. “And I’m damn sure he meant that literally as well as figuratively, in your case!”

The sparkle of sunlight collected itself, its scattered brightness coalescing into a point of light that burned like a supernova as it tinkled in reply, the bright yellow turning a deep, hazy pink.

“Oh, God,” Sam groaned, his hand sliding down to cover his eyes. “I don’t care how big her rack was, it was a stupid thing to do.” As the bell-like sounds grew more tympanic, Sam held up a hand, grimacing slightly as he interrupted, “Please, no more details. There are some things I just really don’t want to know.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as the tinkles of sound lightened to something resembling faraway harness bells and he ground out, “I cannot _believe_ you just said that. That was an entirely different situation. Madison….” Sam closed his eyes, collapsing on the bed and leaning his head into his hand, rubbing idly along his hairline. “That was different and you know it.”

The supernova dimmed, its color fading to an azure blue as it bobbed closer, the rapid-fire sounds slowing to the burbling murmur of a lazily flowing stream. The light darted aimlessly, rebounding off Sam’s ear and bouncing along the skin bared at the back of his neck, making Sam fidget and bury a laugh under an irritated growl. “Stop tickling me, Dean. I know you’re sorry, but you’re still an ass.”

Dean resumed what appeared to be his usual yellow glow, swirling happily in random patterns in front of Sam with a spatter of pixie dust following him like a tiny comet’s tail. He looped wildly, leaving what looked like the symbol for Blue Oyster Cult hanging momentarily in the air before the shiny sparkles showered over Sam’s knees like an explosion of shooting stars, dissolving only seconds later.

The excited tinkling drew Sam’s focus back to his brother, who bobbled erratically as his glow brightened until it was almost painful to look at directly. Sam’s mouth fell open and he shook his head in disbelief, snorting with amusement at his brother’s suggestion. “No, Dean. I don’t think that you can make me fly.”

Dean’s reply was a shrill burst of sound that made Sam wince in discomfort. “I don’t care what you saw in _Peter Pan_ , happy thoughts and pixie dust are just not going to be enough.” Sam cast a peeved look at the hyperactive ball of light when it erupted in a cascade of jingling bells and muttered under his breath, “And it’s _not_ because I have a fat ass, Tinkerbell.” 

                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Dean did his dance of the sugarplum fairies around the room, Sam arranged himself in front of his laptop, keeping a careful eye on his brother to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. Evening had darkened the sky outside, so the only light in the room came from Dean and the computer screen that lit up Sam’s face in a wash of techno-blue.

Sam was alerted to Dean’s approach by the tinkling that increased in volume as he buzzed by Sam’s ear. He bobbed around Sam’s screen as if interested in what it actually said, causing a small grin to break over Sam’s face. “You must be bored if you’re doing research with me,” Sam commented with a laugh.

Dean dove at the computer screen and bounced off with a pained jingle. “Dean?” Sam asked in confusion, watching the blinding glow of his brother bobbing against the white radiance of the laptop screen. “Awww,” Sam groaned, snorting in disbelief. “No _way_.”

As Dean went for another run, Sam cupped his hands around him, quickly walking towards the wall and flipping on the switch, casting the room in an even spectrum of light. “I’m not letting you give yourself brain damage like some sort of demented moth,” Sam said. He released Dean, who bobbled dizzily before righting himself and scolding Sam with a rapid-fire series of tinkles, burning like star in his annoyance.

Sam glanced out the window with a worried frown, warning Dean sternly, “ _Stay here_.” He carefully edged his way out the door and returned only a moment later, the look of relief evident on his face. “I unplugged the bug zapper in case you get out,” Sam informed him. He ignored Dean’s perturbed jingle as his brother dulled to a distant green. “No, I don’t think you’re an idiot, but better safe than sorry, right?”

He had the feeling Dean had his back turned to him, the dim green color more than hinting that Dean was actively sulking.

“C’mon,” Sam suggested with a sigh. “It’s time for bed. I’ll call Bobby tomorrow.” 

                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam’s nose twitched and he mumbled sleepily, swiping blindly at his face as he rolled onto his back. The tickling sensation increased in intensity, a sudden explosive sneeze awakening him from his slumber as he wiped half-heartedly at his nose.

He blinked blearily up at the ceiling, sneezing again before he caught sight of a tiny, yellow glow peeking from around the lamp. The light emitted by his brother illuminated the shade as if Sam had forgotten to turn it off the previous night. Sam sat up and rubbed groggily at his eyes, sniffling suspiciously when he saw the faint sparkles dissolving on his hands. “Dean?” he asked with sleepy curiosity, arching an eyebrow in the direction of the nightstand.

The light bobbed up over the shade, tinkling in question before Sam yawned, “Yes, it’s safe to come out. Hurricane Sam has left the area.” Dean jingled energetically as he swooped in, unable to remain still now that he had an alert audience. Sam rolled his eyes, falling back on the rumpled sheets with a resigned sigh. “I told you it wouldn’t work. Stop…sprinkling on me.”

The sound grew in volume and the small supernova turned a teasing orange-pink, the bell-like tinkles emitting a very familiar tune. “You thought for sure I was having a happy thought because of the sounds I was….? Oh, hell, Dean. It’s none of your damn business what I was dreaming. I’m not going to fly!” Sam frowned at him, growling unhappily, “And stop with the porn music. It’s like a Disney soundtrack gone horribly wrong.”

Half an hour later, Sam was showered, dressed, and starving. However, he had a minor problem – what does a person do with a hyperactive firefly? It was like having some kind of mutant sparkler following him, and stealth didn’t seem to be an option. As far as he could tell, Dean never stilled; Sam almost feared he might be something like a shark that would die if he stopped his constant movement.

“Dean?” Sam asked hopefully. “Could you dim the lights maybe?”

His brother danced around his head and, with what seemed like a concerted effort, his yellow glare paled slightly, making him appear less like a miniature sun and more like an extremely bright twinkle light. Sam sighed, rubbing thoughtfully at his brow – he was going to wear a bald spot along his hairline if they didn’t find a way to turn Dean human again.

“All right, in you go.” Sam held open his shirt pocket with a pointed glare in Dean’s direction. But his brother was having none of it, his erratic movements becoming more amped as he threw a tantrum accompanied by the sound of a bell factory at a bomb site.

“Dean,” Sam explained patiently, pocket still open. “I can’t leave you here. What if the maid accidentally sucks you up in the vacuum or you get plastered to the vent and suffocate when the heat turns on? What if a rat gets you?” Supernova Dean glowed an impossible red, making Sam momentarily wonder if pixies could actually explode in anger.

“I know you’re not helpless,” Sam interrupted soothingly, a headache already beginning to form due to the cacophonous tinkling that only seemed to grow louder the angrier Dean became. “But I do know you’re hungry.”

The blare of bells silenced momentarily before jingling half-heartedly and the tiny star dove into his pocket. Sam glanced down to make sure the light wasn’t too obvious as he wondered aloud, “What do pixies eat anyhow?” 

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They got their answer not a foot from their door. As Sam turned to make sure the room was locked behind them, a hummingbird darted by in a flash of ruby green, hovering near the ant-dotted feeder hanging from the eaves a couple of doors down. Within seconds, Dean burst out of Sam’s pocket and spiraled wildly towards the feeder, Sam awkwardly jogging after him to snatch at the bobbing ball of light before Dean did something he’d regret.

Sam’s hands tinkled furiously, a strange glow making the thin skin burn red as Dean buzzed in the cage of Sam’s palms. “Sugar water!” Sam exclaimed happily, walking towards the car. “Makes sense…you’d need the energy from a large amount of glucose in order to maintain your level of activity.”

A discordant jingle erupted from Sam’s hand again and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I know you must be hungry, but that’s gross, Dean. It was covered with ants and bird crap.” Pausing in the parking lot, Sam hesitated before asking, “Do you need to…go to the bathroom in this form, Dean? I’m not even sure if you’re wearing pants. I just don’t want to have to worry about you peeing in my pocket.”

The red paled to a more sedate orange as the bells sang in reply. “You peed on my toothbrush this morning?!” Sam said in disbelief, causing a passerby to skirt widely around him as he talked to his own fist. “You better be kidding or I’m trapping you under a water glass when I go to sleep tonight.” 

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon reaching the diner, Sam debated carefully on where to sit. If he chose a dark corner to keep his brother out of sight, Dean would stand out like a thermonuclear nightlight, but if he chose a more open booth, someone would surely notice the atomic firefly dancing around the table top. Hesitating for a moment, Sam settled on the corner booth at the window, where the early morning sun made sitting slightly uncomfortable from the bright glare on the glass. If anyone saw Dean, they just might think he was a shard of light reflecting off the silverware rather than a pain-in-the-ass pixie.

A sullen waitress wandered by, depositing a small glass of water and leaving again before Sam could even think about giving his order. He blinked in slow surprise at her amazing disappearing act, wondering at her burst of speed to get away from the customers and her glacial pace to approach.

With a shrug he pulled the small glass closer, rifling through the condiments to find the sugar shaker. “Okay, Dean. Not sure how much you need so just warn me when to stop,” Sam murmured while trying not to move his lips.

He began pouring a thin stream of sugar into the water, casually stirring the white powder into a thickening cloudy swirl. Dean bobbled his way out of Sam’s pocket and danced around his fingers, tinkling encouragingly as he bounced on the back of Sam’s hand, urging him to add more.

Sam kept pouring until the sugar refused to dissolve any further and collected in a small mountain of ooze at the bottom of the glass. At that point, Dean spiraled his way down Sam’s finger, skimming over the surface of the water like a junebug.

He heard the waitress slogging her way nearer and cocooned Dean’s spastic brightness under the shelter of his large hands, tucking the glass closer to his body. She frowned at him absently, more from displeasure at working this crap job than any reaction to Sam in particular, he was sure, but it still made him feel oddly guilty. “I’ll have a Denver omelet, hash browns and some orange juice, please,” Sam asked politely, offering her a stilted smile to urge her on her way.

Once she was gone, Sam grabbed containers of sugar packets, mostly artificial sweeteners unfortunately, from the nearby tables and scrounged out every packet of cane sugar he could find, stuffing them in his pockets for later. When the waitress brought his breakfast, she arched a weary eyebrow at the dozen or so porcelain containers that now decorated the table next to Sam, leaving him with a baleful glare as she collected them to refill behind the counter.

Dean jingled from inside his water glass, the sound echoing hollowly, and Sam shook his head in polite disagreement. “We’re still going to leave her a tip, Dean.” 

                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a minor problem when Sam was finished eating – Dean was nowhere to be found. He’d been busily dive-bombing Sam’s plate like an overeager horsefly while Sam ate and for one brief moment, Sam feared he had swallowed his own brother. Before he could even think, his tongue hesitantly ran along his teeth, digging into the nooks and crannies as he began to stir the dregs of sugar at the bottom of Dean’s water glass, now worried his brother may have inadvertently drowned going back for another drink.

After checking the most logical places for Dean’s pixified corpse, Sam looked to the next place he might find the neon spark that was his brother, swirling somewhere around the knees of the twenty-something waitress serving a couple of tables away. Dean hadn’t let Sam hear the end of _that_ once he’d discovered Sam had sat in the corner of the restaurant served by the bionically-slow, elderly woman, when there was a pretty college girl available to bring them pancakes and assorted syrups at a fast clip – useful later, should the mood strike, and with Dean it always did.

Sam had pretended not to know the firefly buzzing under the woman’s skirt, and most certainly did _not_ laugh when she had seen the flying glow around her ankles and nearly stepped on Dean with a muffled squeak that sounded suspiciously like the word _cockroach,_ before the elder waitress gave her a warning glare that quieted her immediately. Dean had come floating back like a dismayed dust mote, glowing a dim vomit green as he tried to recollect his dignity.

Sam hadn’t told him he’d deserved it.

A tiny trill drew his attention to the napkin dispenser and Sam shoved it aside to find Dean curled up in a ball, fast asleep and snoring almost inaudible bell-like whistles. The awesome amount of sugar Dean had ingested for breakfast had put him into a sort of hibernation mode as his body processed what he’d eaten. Sam let out a relieved huff of breath, finally noticing now that Dean was actually still – and very much not dead, thank God – he maintained a human appearance.

Not even a third of the size of Sam’s pinkie finger, Dean’s naked form was huddled on his belly, his dragonfly wings fanning softly as he slumbered. Sam inverted a water glass to get a closer look, using the crude magnifying glass to study the rainbow patterns flowing over Dean’s translucent wings as they fluttered in the sunlight streaming through the window. He noted Dean’s tiny pointed ears and what looked suspiciously like a hickey decorating the swell of Dean’s right butt cheek.

Sam rolled his eyes, gently setting the glass out of the way. He heard the familiar shuffle of the waitress nearing and slipped the napkin dispenser in front of Dean once more. “Um…,” Sam began smoothly, “can I have a box to take this home, please?” This time the waitress arched both eyebrows at the toast crust and empty jelly containers decorating Sam’s plate and with an audible sigh of disgust, turned to wend her way back behind the counter.

After carefully padding the bottom with napkins, Sam delicately lifted Dean’s sleeping form on his butter knife and deposited him in the center of the box, making sure not to crush Dean’s wings. With Dean take-out in hand, Sam wondered if his brother would sleep long enough for a trip to the library, or if he should just play it safe and head back to the motel. A loud, tinkling snore from the Styrofoam container made up his mind, and he carefully balanced the box as he made his way back to the security of their room. 

                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam knew Dean had awakened when the container started dancing across the tabletop, glowing a startling red as the usual cheery jingles melted into the almost incomprehensible shrill sound of a pissed-off tambourine player.

“Keep your pants on Dean,” Sam warned good-naturedly, flipping open the lid to allow the angry ball of light to erupt from the Styrofoam box like a bottle rocket. As Dean swirled in an agitated tornado in the middle of the room, Sam added, “Oh…wait. You’re not _wearing_ pants.”

Sam was pretty sure Dean was flipping him off, but he didn’t care.

“I called Bobby while you were napping and he said the cure depends on whether it was a gift or a curse,” he explained patiently, focusing on his laptop rather than the apoplectic comet that was Dean. “You have any idea which it might be?”

The flying sparkler deepened to a hot pink hue, tinkling eagerly in reply. Sam’s eyes skittered over to Dean and he snapped, “Enough with the details already!” He sighed with obvious irritation and said, “But that sounds like it should fall under the gift category….”

An off-hand jingle interrupted Sam’s ruminations. “She asked you to sleep with her husband?” Sam asked incredulously, his eyebrows reaching new heights. Dean turned an affronted green and tinkled haughtily.

“So you didn’t know she was married….” Sam cocked his head in Dean’s direction. “Well, did you do it or not?”

A burst of sound exploded from the star shimmering in the middle of the room and it spiked a threatening red.

“Sorry…of course you said no.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Forgive my insolence.” He slouched in his seat, stretching his arms over his head. “I think that narrows it down to the curse side of things. Explains why they made you a pixie – keep you humble.” Sam snickered, hanging his head in the hopes his brother wouldn’t notice his glee.

Dean made a rude noise that sounded like a dyspeptic bike horn.

“And I say it’s worked wonders,” Sam commented dryly. “The whole point of this kind of thing is usually to teach you a lesson or to scare the crap out of you for a while…a little of both if the fairy in question has any say in the matter. Probably has a time limit or maybe a specific action cues the change….”

Sam started mumbling under his breath, turning back to the screen to type in a few key phrases as he dredged through what information he had found. Dean brushed by Sam’s ear, his color tinting a pale, pleading purple, his usual frenetic tinkles slowing to a nearly hypnotizing purr.

Sam glanced at him hesitantly. “I’m not sure, Dean. It’s dangerous. What if a bird eats you?”

His brother turned a noxious green, his displeasure evident from the utter silence that echoed through the room.

“Fine,” Sam sighed, closing his laptop with a grimace. “We’ll go to the park. But if you get eaten by Kermit, I’m definitely going to say ‘I told you so’.” 

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam felt uncomfortably out of place, worrying about being a large man sitting anywhere within fifty feet of the playground, but the park was the size of a postage stamp. The second they’d hit the grass, Dean had jangled happily, darting off to dance around the flower garden that sculpted the landscape behind the benches.

Slouching warily in his seat, half-turned toward the flowers to keep an eye on his brother – who was as happy as a pig in slop if his nearly blinding luminescence was anything to go by – and to make sure they had no unwelcome observers.

Catching sight of a little girl in pigtails watching him – or, more appropriately, the lightshow behind him - with unabashed interest, Sam hissed covertly, “Dim it down, Dean. We don’t need an audience.”

Dean was too busy chasing a butterfly to listen, and Sam briefly wondered if he should be worried about the mating practices of pixies, particularly since his brother was turning that alarming hazy shade of pink that meant no good.

“Don’t molest the butterflies, Dean,” Sam whispered warningly, trying not to move his lips so it didn’t look like he was talking to himself.

Dean tinkled mischievously, pausing in the chase to bobble in front of Sam. “She… _it_ is not a tease!” Sam disagreed in surprise. Dean jingled merrily in reply before darting off again after the butterfly that had just paused to take a breather on top of a sunflower. “I hope to God you’ve got a condom,” Sam said with resignation, rubbing again along his hairline at the thought of potential little winged Deans invading the town come spring.

“There’s a fairy over there, Benny,” Sam heard in the unmistakably loud tone of a young child. He turned to see the little girl pointing towards him, tugging on what he could only guess was her older brother’s jacket. Having been carpet-bagged into babysitting duty, the older brother was obviously too cool to bother hanging with his baby sister and stubbornly continued to watch the boarders in the nearby skate park.

Her voice got impossibly louder and Sam winced, urging Dean a little more strongly to get his ass back in his pocket right now. “Like Tinkerbell, Benny! It’s a real fairy!”

The brother sighed as if the chore were too much for him and turned to take a look at Sam. Even from this distance, Sam could see the hundred and one smart-ass remarks that came to the boy’s mind when he caught sight of him on the bench before he said quite clearly, “There’s no such thing as fairies, Annabeth. Go play.” With that, he gently shoved his sister back towards the swings, returning his attention to the teenagers nearby.

The girl’s mouth dropped open and she turned quickly towards Sam, her eyes already brimming with tears.

Sam wondered what was going on before he heard it, or rather didn’t hear it - the continuous, rabid elf jingling that followed Dean everywhere. He spun in his seat, seeing the tiny supernova flickering unsteadily, Dean’s constant lighthouse glow dimming to that of an anemic flashlight in need of batteries. His bright yellow coloring turned an odd gray, almost like fresh ectoplasm, before the little star began falling, the light suddenly extinguishing and leaving Dean all but invisible as he plummeted towards the ground.

“Dean!” Sam cried hoarsely, kneeling on the bench to look at the dirt floor of the garden for a tiny body. He was afraid to set foot on the ground, fearing he might step on his brother before he saw him, but Dean was so small and the ground was so vast, Sam thought he might never find him at all. “Dean! What’s wrong?!”

A quick clapping caught his attention and he heard, in that clear child’s voice, “I do believe in fairies! I do believe in fairies!” He saw the little girl with her eyes squeezed shut, clapping wildly.

And Sam understood. “I do believe in fairies,” he said, hoping this might work as he clapped enthusiastically. “I do believe! I do!”

The little girl smiled, but her brother looked disgusted and grabbed her hand. “We’re going home and I’m telling mom to burn that _Peter Pan_ DVD, you weirdo.” He cast a suspicious glance at Sam, who was still clapping like a lunatic, and hurried his sister away.

As the pair disappeared across the grass, Sam heard a loud groan behind him. “What in the hell are you doing, Sammy?” Dean asked grouchily.

Sam slumped in relief on the bench, staring at his shoes as he gathered himself together.

“I’ve got a rosebush poking me in the ass,” Dean continued in a less than pleased tone, the leaves rustling as he tried to situate himself.

Sam laughed, running a hand through his hair as he turned to find a full-sized Dean sprawled in the flowers, covered from head to toe in a fine dusting of golden pollen, a harem of attentive butterflies alighting on his exposed skin.

Hhmm, maybe she had been a tease after all.

“Um…Sam?” Dean asked hesitantly, making Sam grin at the awkwardness of the situation. “You got an extra pair of pants on you?” 


End file.
